


End of Broadcast

by LanternJawedStudmuffin



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anxiety Disorder, Arranged Marriage, Chubby Katsuki Yuuri, Developing Relationship, Dirty Dancing, Drinking, Language Barrier, M/M, Miscommunication, Modern Royalty, Paparazzi, Political Drama, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Slow Dancing, Stripping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-10-30 22:06:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10885866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LanternJawedStudmuffin/pseuds/LanternJawedStudmuffin
Summary: When every moment of your life is caught on camera, it's hard to catch a moment alone to get to know your new husband.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neptunedemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neptunedemon/gifts).



> We're dedicating this fic to our tumblr follower and our most vocal supporter, [neptunedemon](http://neptunedemon.tumblr.com/). Thank you for everything you've said and done for us - we're grateful beyond words! We hope you enjoy this fic!
> 
> For those of us who haven't read our stuff before and aren't familiar with us, you can follow us on tumblr [here!](http://lanternjawedstudmuffin.tumblr.com/) Or, follow our Yuri!!! On Ice tumblr [here!](http://maximum-eros.tumblr.com/)

Connection was the most important thing in the world.

A life without connection was beyond imagination. Connection was what maintained peace between countries and citizens. The eye of the media kept everyone informed, everyone entertained, everyone within reach of each other by merely clicking a button.

And everyone _was_ connected in that way. There were ways to watch one's neighbor, one's friends, even enemies or ex-lovers. Cameras were everywhere, in everyone's homes and workplaces, making privacy a concept that was forgotten. It was so normal to have eyes on you that anyone with a sense of modesty was considered irregular, an oddity in their connected world.

Most eyes, though, tended towards one individual.

The plane that was touching down was carrying Viktor's husband-to-be, and the amassed congregation of cameras was there specifically to capture this meeting. It had been years since so much of the media had come spilling out of the woodwork, not since Viktor had been declared the Crown Prince of the region in a ceremony that had been broadcast across the globe.

Cameras were commonplace in their present and even more so in Viktor's life. It was in his infancy that his birth parents had decided, like so many other parents did, that their son would be the next heir to the throne. He'd been groomed meticulously for the job – knowledge of world history, politics, social networking, elocution, wardrobe choices... It had all been drilled into his head from the moment he could speak.

To catch the attention of the current Royal, be it a Queen or King, one had to start as early as possible. The heir to the throne was, traditionally, chosen from among the people, after the old ways had been discarded. It used to be that the monarchy was contained to bloodline, until that led to the poisoning of the gene pool. Inbreeding, destructive favoritism... Such were the dangers of keeping power within a family, and it was no longer the way their region did things.

Now, the process of choosing world leaders was a popularity contest. Cameras had been on Viktor since he was old enough to catch the King's eye, from among the legions of children hoping to be the one in that position. His childhood and development had all been publicized, and the King's declaration that he would be the one to take the throne had been celebrated country-wide as a one-off holiday. Viktor was the media's darling, the world's most powerful celebrity, and the most eligible bachelor of high standing.

Until now.

Since heirs were not allowed to come from the direct bloodline, it didn't really matter who Viktor married, so long it was the strongest political tie. The Eastern region of Onsenkuni, which was a strong Queendom in its own right, had fallen upon hard times as their national debt had grown. They were the chief supplier of the world's technological wonders; drone cameras, live video feed to any handheld device, three dimensional screens. But, imported resources were becoming too expensive to maintain their affordable export costs.

The Kingdom that would be Viktor's, the land of Zolonaya, had much to gain from a strong alliance with Onsenkuni, but Her Majesty Queen Katsuki could not be the one to wed. Neither she nor Viktor could leave their home country as a ruler and an heir apparent, respectively. So, the arrangement fell upon her younger brother.

Katsuki Yuuri was going to come out of that plane, and Viktor would see him for the first time. He'd had a month to mentally prepare himself; only a month. As was his way, though, his preparation had involved deliberately not thinking about it. He wanted their first meeting to be natural, low-pressure, and hopefully friendly.

He just hoped that Katsuki Yuuri was accustomed to reporters.

Viktor flashed his charming smile at the cameras as he passed them, the hungry lenses anchored to reporters' shoulders or left free-floating to get a better view. He never hid from the media or acted disinterested, lifting his designer sunglasses despite the bright sun just so they could get a proper look at his face. He was surrounded by silent and stern guards, but their presence was superfluous. The media, as omnipresent as it was, didn't need to be held back by anything other than the velvet ropes strung up between the platform, lest they give themselves a bad name.

It was a useful way of policing them, to have different media sources keeping an eye on one another.

The plane descended smoothly from the air, the flight settings shifted to hover directly downwards and smoothly touching down on the landing zone. As the door was opened by his own staff, Yuuri walked stiffly forward and shielded his eyes.

Viktor had avoided any and all expectations about him, so everything about Yuuri came as a surprise. He looked soft, with his rounded features and warm eyes, but vaguely stern in his rather traditional kimono. It was styled for modern conveniences, but it still managed to give him an element of severity; a weight of culture and tradition.

It was an encouraging first impression. He seemed like someone who could stand up strong, if and when barbs were slung his way.

Head held confidently high, Viktor made his way forward towards the shade the plane cast and stopped by the lowered steps. Genial in a grandiose kind of way, he extended a hand towards his future groom. “Katsuki Yuuri! We meet at last.”

Carefully descending, Yuuri took the offered hand in both of his and bowed as he clasped it. “Nikiforov. Your Royal Majesty.”

“Please, let's not be so formal with each other.” Leaning in, Viktor pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek, thoughtlessly performing for the cameras.

He'd been right, though. Pleasingly soft.

“How was your flight?” he inquired.

Yuuri had briefly frozen. He'd never encountered a stranger that would be so forward, whatever their future relationship was to be. “... It was very comfortable,” he finally managed to say, accent distinct. “Thank you for asking.”

“I've arranged for transports to take any of your belongings on ahead. The media is eager to get a word from you, before we go ourselves.”

Again, Yuuri felt startled. “From me? Should I ask for my translator?”

“It might be a good idea. The media talks fast,” Viktor said, angling his body to smile at the cameras again. There were a few whizzing around the pair of them only a few feet away. Yuuri took the opposite tactic, ducking his head to conceal his face from them.

It was this that prompted the shift in Viktor's mindset, watching Yuuri motion for one of his personal guard and murmuring instructions to her in his own language. There was a lot he thought he could like about Yuuri based on appearance alone, but the media would not be kind about the weight he was sporting or his shyness. He surely would not be so bashful over time, so that issue would probably fix itself...

The press seemed to barely contain themselves now that Yuuri was here, as well. Viktor's guard maintained the line, and it was almost becoming necessary for the enthusiasm the reporters were showing, flagging their cameras and waving to the crown prince and his fiance.

Yuuri was relieved when his translator arrived from within the plane. “Will it be alright for him to travel with us?”

“Yes, of course,” Viktor replied, drawn out from his reverie.

“Good, thank you,” Yuuri inclined his head. He was taking the moment as well to appraise Viktor's face from such close proximity.

He was an intimidatingly beautiful person. Yuuri had seen him on many news stations before and admired him, but always thought that there had to be some sort of technology they used to smooth his skin, or add some extra shine to his hair. That was not the case.

Subtly and effortlessly, Viktor took advantage of Yuuri's distraction to steer them towards the reporters clamoring for a word. The question that seemed to be on most of their lips was whether or not Yuuri was excited for his upcoming wedding, and one of the reporters shoved a microphone right towards Yuuri's face.

He had never been so terrified in his entire life. Still, Yuuri leaned closer to hear his translator repeat what was asked, and spoke back only to him.

Rather than reply in Common, the translator spoke in their region's local language. “Prince Yuuri looks forward to the joining of two great nations, and hopes to see this union strength both his homeland, and the country he will now call home.”

“And what does His Highness think of his husband-to-be, Prince Nikiforov?” one of the reporters managed to ask before the uproar of more questions.

Viktor intercepted that question with a laugh. “Give us time to get acquainted!”

That successfully took the pressure of the question off, at least. A bit more relaxed, Yuuri spoke to his translator once more.

“Prince Yuuri thinks well of His Highness, and has thought favorably of this meeting since the announcement of their engagement.”

Admittedly, Viktor was pleased to hear that.

“What will His Highness miss most about his homeland?” the same reporter, quick on the draw, managed to get another question in.

“The Royal family and their pets,” the translator interpreted again once he had Yuuri's answer.

Viktor felt a tiny tug in his chest, imagining having to leave Makkachin. “... Come along, now. We don't want to be late,” he declared, ignoring the rush of new questions as he turned them towards the transport. Yuuri silently thanked him, and found himself being led without Viktor ever overtaking him. They walked in step as the staff went ahead to get the doors of the long, sleek vehicle.

Getting into the backseat, Viktor was immediately greeted by a large dog's tongue in his face and a rapidly waving tail, and Yuuri's eyes went wide.

“Ah – Prince Yuuri, may I introduce you to Makkachin,” Viktor introduced his dog, which was altogether unnecessary. The dog that was half in Yuuri's face was practically a celebrity all on its own, and there was a starstruck look on Yuuri's face that even Viktor hadn't received.

“I-it's nice to meet you, Makkachin,” Yuuri greeted, awed. Makkachin turned and proceeded to bury his nose in every available crevice of Yuuri's body.

“He's very friendly,” Viktor smiled, amused. “As you can tell.”

Yuuri was so overwhelmed with instant affection that he nearly teared up. “May I...?” he inquired, hand hovering over Makkachin's head.

“Go ahead. He loves attention.”

Brightening, Yuuri began rubbing both of his ears, and Makkachin eagerly tilted his head into Yuuri's hands.

“You like dogs?”

He nodded. “Very much. Especially poodles.”

“Ah, really?” Viktor grinned. “That's good, we wouldn't get along well if you didn't like Makkachin. You said you had pets?”

Yuuri had paused, slightly intimidated and not sure if he was meant to laugh. If Viktor had meant that, were there other things that might cause them to get along badly if Yuuri did or didn't do them? “... Yes,” he answered after a beat. “The royal family has several, although there is one dog I feel very close to.”

Viktor softened sympathetically. “... I'm sorry you had to leave your dog.”

“He'll be well looked after,” Yuuri smiled, but it was a little bit sad. He scratched under Makkachin's chin as the large poodle all but climbed into his lap.

“Is there anything else from home we could provide? Something to make the transition easier?”

Yuuri hesitated. He had one idea, but he was embarrassed to ask for it.

“Prince Yuuri?” Viktor prodded.

“... Can your chef make pork cutlet bowls?”

“Pork cutlet bowls?” Viktor repeated blankly. “... I'll have to make a request.”

Yuuri was blushing faintly. “They're my own family chef's specialty.”

“I see...” Viktor lifted a hand to his chin. “I'll have the chefs look into it immediately.”

“Thank you. I-... I hope I don't embarrass you.”

“Of course you won't,” Viktor replied innocently. “Especially once we have you lose some weight, there'll be nothing you could possibly embarrass me with.”

Yuuri felt a small part of him shatter. “... Right.”

“Image is everything here, you know,” Viktor went on. “The public will expect you to always look good, but I already have a stylist on staff.”

What Viktor didn't think to say was that he wouldn't have had Yuuri change at all, if it was up to him. He didn't think it would be necessary, if it weren't for the fact that the media would eventually rear its uglier head and strike at Yuuri that way. All the same, Yuuri smiled self-consciously at his feet.

“Still, I think this is exciting,” Viktor announced, and Makkachin yipped and licked Yuuri's hand before bounding back to Viktor. “The ceremony is set for tomorrow.”

Yuuri very much doubted he could offer anything to excite Viktor. “Yes. I've been preparing with my staff at home.”

“Tonight will be the rehearsal, though – Will it be difficult, with our different cultures?”

“We... thought it would be best to mainly follow your traditions,” Yuuri replied. “No royal from my home has ever been married to someone of the same sex.”

“It isn't common here, either. Does it bother you?” Viktor asked, wondering rather late whether or not that might prove to be an issue.

Luckily, Yuuri shook his head. “Marriage is a duty I've always known I'd have. I've never considered who it would be until our engagement.”

“We're similar in that, then.”

“I understand that the custom is for us to choose an heir once we're wed.”

Viktor made an affirmative noise, scratching behind Makkachin's ear. “I've been grooming a promising candidate to take it. I'll introduce you at the wedding.”

“I'd be happy to hear about them,” Yuuri fibbed, truthfully a little terrified of such a prospect. It was almost silly to be intimidated by a child he had yet to meet, but he felt less qualified to help lead in his new home than this young potential heir.

“He's got quite a temper, a lot of ambition, and is very popular with the press,” Viktor informed him. “His name is Yuri Plisetsky.”

Yuuri blinked. “His name is Yuri, as well?”

Viktor laughed. “It's a coincidence, isn't it?”

“It is.” Yuuri managed a slight smile.

“I'm sure you'll get along. Obviously, you should have a say in who our heir is.”

“I should?” Yuuri was surprised.

“As my husband, of course you should,” Viktor answered, as though it should be obvious.

“I thought that sort of thing was left to the crown prince, not the... Er, what is my title to be?”

“Traditionally, my wife would be the crown princess...” Viktor thought aloud, that never having occurred to him. “I suppose your title will be decided by the media.”

Yuuri swallowed hard. He knew how unkind the media could be.

Viktor winked. “Don't worry. I know how to keep them on my side.”

Yuuri's face lit up with a blush, and Viktor reflexively squeezed Makkachin, pleased to see it.

It really was a most pleasing surprise, that his future husband was so... _cute_.

 

* * *

 

The media was waiting for them at the castle, too, and set up to take footage of the two of them settling in. There was time for only a cursory tour, one that was given more for the benefit of the cameras and their wielders than for Yuuri.

The castle was a gold-plated building that glittered in even the dimmest light. Even though it housed the most important family in the nation, it looked more like a showpiece than a secure or private quarters. The reinforced windows were immense, giving anyone who fancied a look inside plenty to see of the art-rich hallways, the grand parlor rooms, the ballroom. The grounds were sprawling and well maintained, the garden just as beautiful to behold as anything inside the palace walls. Viktor had called it home since his early teens and knew every room by heart, as well as knowing the ins and outs of the complicated security system.

Even though it looked accessible, the palace was hard to permeate past the first floor. Upstairs were the bedrooms, the board rooms, the private things the royals were entitled to, and only staff with the highest clearance could make their way upstairs. Like so much else about their lives, though, it was necessary to make things look open and welcoming, even if it was a facade. The people were happiest when they thought they knew everything about their favorite celebrities.

It was a relief when the media left, and they could commence their rehearsal of the ceremony. For one thing, Yuuri was able to wear his glasses again, and being able to see clearly made all the stress a little bit easier to bear when he wasn't in danger of tripping over something he hadn't noticed. The remarkable thing about Viktor, though, was that he acted the same way whether the media was present or not. He was charming and flawless, going through their vows without missing a word or fumbling over a syllable, and seamlessly leaning forward to kiss Yuuri on cue before they were told that they wouldn't have to until the real wedding itself.

It kind of would have been nice if Viktor had at least seemed embarrassed or unsure at any point... especially now that they'd reached the most nerve-wracking part of the rehearsal. Viktor walked with Yuuri with their linked hands aloft, taking him down from the altar to practice their first dance together.

Yuuri had received dancing lessons all his life, but no one at the palace back home was an expert on the style of dancing in this region. He was the most nervous for this part, dreading the idea of making a fool out of himself.

Taking his place facing Yuuri, Viktor winked at him before looking towards the orchestra, which had been revising the traditional wedding music all throughout their vows. Nearby was Yakov, the crown prince's adviser and attendant, coaching them through the wedding preparations.

“No improvisation, Your Highness. This won't be the time,” he cautioned, coarse with preemptive disapproval for whatever Viktor might do.

“Yes, of course,” Viktor replied breezily, taking Yuuri's hands.

Yuuri clasped them, but looked at Viktor's jaw to avoid meeting his eyes. He'd just follow his lead, Yuuri resolved.

Viktor began to lead their dance, sticking closely to the traditional way of it with one exception, taking them around the dance floor in broad arcs as though their feet were brush strokes upon a canvas. Yuuri was able to piece it together and follow for the most part, misstepping here and there until he accidentally bumped full on into his fiance. Keeping him close for a moment, Viktor chuckled.

His face was hotter than the sun and his heart started to pound so hard he couldn't stand it. Yuuri took a step back.

“Should we take a moment?” Viktor suggested.

“Maybe if you showed me the steps first...”

Viktor nodded. “Stand aside, I'll start from the beginning.”

Deeply relieved to have a moment to breathe, Yuuri moved back a few paces to what seemed like an adequate distance. Viktor went to take the stance in the center of the room again, his hands extended to an invisible partner.

His expression entranced Yuuri. He looked so natural, so relaxed.

The orchestra was waved on to start again, and Viktor seemed to move effortlessly when it began. It was like he was weightless, long legs sweeping into precise steps in time with the music.

Yuuri's heart skipped again, but it didn't feel like anxiety this time. He shook it off to pay attention to the steps, certain that he could follow them if he focused.

Comfortable in the choreography and his ability to carry it off, Viktor thought instead of Yuuri and his newfound need to surprise him, to show off a little. He'd always been that way with his public, aiming to astound with something new at every turn, but this need felt specific. He added a bit of flourish where he thought it might impress, much to Yakov's dismay; he buried his face with an aggrieved sigh, knowing exactly what his intentions were.

Yuuri felt his throat contract, slowly losing focus to admiration. By the time Viktor was back in the center of the room and the song had concluded, he was inexplicably a little out of breath.

Viktor looked over towards him. “Do you think you've got it?”

He nodded. He had the urgent need to wet his lips.

“Then let's try again,” Viktor extended a hand. Yuuri took it with the subtle slide of his tongue over his lips, and thought back to how the dance began.

The orchestra went quiet as they were waved to, preparing.

“One... two...”

Viktor and Yuuri took the first steps at the same moment, and already finding that he'd caught on well, Viktor grinned. Yuuri had always been praised on his dancing and found it easy to find the rhythm, nearly keeping up with Viktor and successfully, unknowingly, turning the tables on him.

He was the one who was impressed. Viktor didn't know many people who could pick up on choreography with such ease. Viktor's focus was giving way, though he was still in perfect time, as he watched Yuuri lose the look of faint alarm that had been ever-present since his arrival, watched him move as lightly on his feet as though he were floating. Yuuri's eyelids lowered to an expression of quiet focus, following both by memory and by Viktor's lead, covering for any missed steps with grace. He had long eyelashes.

They moved well together... That boded well. The further they got into the dance, the more they found themselves breathing in sync.

But still, Viktor wanted to surprise him. Where he'd added a flourish before, Viktor this time added a spin, which made Yuuri stumble as he didn't expect it.

Viktor caught him with a laugh. “Sorry.”

“Are we keeping that?” Yuuri asked, a little flustered.

“I don't see why not. You're quite graceful.”

“Er, thank you.”

Righting him, Viktor pinched one of his cheeks. “I wouldn't have thought so, so I'm impressed.”

Yuuri stared, completely baffled. “U-uh...”

“Shall we practice again?” Viktor grinned genially.

Still in shock, Yuuri heard himself reply, “Sure,” and was brought into his starting position.

Viktor signaled the orchestra again, and wondered what it would be like to kiss Yuuri in front of millions of people.

 

* * *

 

Makkachin bounded along the perimeter of the palace with Viktor in tow, rarely ever worn out by day's end and thus needing some exercise. Viktor insisted on taking Makkachin out himself, rather than employ a dog walker; if he wasn't home, he'd let his staff take him out, but he preferred to do it himself. He held one end of the leash and avoided trudging through the well-kept rosebushes, staring straight ahead.

They'd practiced until dinner, then went their separate ways for the evening. What was strange, Viktor thought, was that it _felt strange_ to be apart from Yuuri. Now was probably the time they should have been using to get to know each other.

If he were being honest, he hadn't anticipated wanting to know much about his husband at all. Viktor had never been interested in men before, generally speaking, and had rarely shown his interest to any of the women who'd ever captured it. He'd always known he would be married to someone of high social standing, even when he hadn't known for sure that he would be King one day. With the way their monarchy worked, there was no obligation to produce children... though, there was an expectation that if he was to take anyone to bed, it would be his spouse. Learning that he'd be marrying a man hadn't made him bat an eye; he would meet this man, marry him, and they would hopefully be companionable with each other. If they were so inclined, they could sleep together just to relieve that urge, but it didn't matter much either way.

Wanting to know Yuuri was something he hadn't considered, but he really did. Yuuri wasn't _shy_ , exactly – there was something to his reserved nature that came off as something other than just shyness, and it made Viktor curious.

When he thought, though, that he'd be married by this time tomorrow... it seemed to be a whole separate event. He felt as detached and blasé about his wedding as he did about everything else he'd ever done. It was just one more duty to perform, and ultimately, Yuuri was just that to him. An obligation.

It wasn't that he envied anyone for being able to marry for other reasons. Viktor liked his life very much as it was, and this was just another part of it. He just wished that he felt a little something more about it, something that was easier to identify.

Marriage itself didn't inspire much feeling, but what about _Yuuri?_ What did he feel about Yuuri?

Passing the large windows, Viktor only paused because he glimpsed movement from inside.

Yuuri had been surprised he was able to make it down to the ballroom without being stopped, but was very glad for it; he hadn't known how he could explain himself in the local tongue, and didn't want to count on all the palace servants knowing Common. He'd made sure he was definitely alone before raising his arms to the level of an invisible partner, and started the choreography with closed eyes, picturing the way Viktor moved. With every wrong step, he shook his head and started again from the beginning.

He ran his hands down his face, took his spot in the room's center again, and started moving, this time with a pair of eyes on him. Yuuri moved with all the grace and intention he would with all the world watching, hearing the music play in his head and gaining confidence.

Makkachin bounded around Viktor with joyful obliviousness, not knowing why his master had stopped to stare intently through the window.

Yuuri took on a faraway expression when he imagined Viktor looking at him with approval, with appreciation, and he came to the spin. Rather than pretend to hold his partner's hand, Yuuri twirled with a flourish of both arms, and Viktor was almost tempted to break into applause.

The way he moved was so much more beautiful than their earlier practice. Viktor could see _so much_ in the way he danced – confidence and charisma, balance and elegance.

Makkachin nosed up against Viktor's hand.

“I could do much worse, Makkachin,” Viktor murmured. “He's bolder than he looks...”

Makkachin yipped at him. Inside, Yuuri had reached the conclusion of the dance, and abruptly dropped his arms to breathe hard.

“... Just out of shape.”

But definitely beautiful, for a man, Viktor thought. He wondered whether or not Yuuri knew so.

Yuuri had caught sight of himself in one of the enormous mirrors and shrunk a little, confidence punctured, but forced himself back up to take the starting pose once more.


	2. Chapter 2

Tradition called for the 'bride' and groom to be separated all morning while the stylists had their way with the couple, contouring their faces to be attractive from every angle a camera could film them from and adjusting their eye-catching tuxedos. Yuuri's style team had more work to do than Viktor's, having made his suit with only measurements to go on, but the speed in which Viktor's stylists had him ready to go was absurdly efficient; he knew how to cooperate with them, and there was no experimentation to be done with make-up.

The turn-out was going to set records. Curious, Viktor withdrew his handheld computer to find out how many people were tuning into the video feed early.

“Thirty minutes now, Your Highness.”

Viktor made a vague sound of acknowledgment while his lips were glossed. Once he was able to speak, he said, “That leaves us long enough to over over the ceremony details again, doesn't it?”

Tradition didn't suit Viktor. He did _not_ want to sit around for half an hour with nothing to do.

“With His Highness Prince Yuuri? It isn't standard -”

“This wedding is not standard, it's historical,” Viktor rebutted, and was on his way in a trice.

Yuuri tried not to wince as his hair was forcibly styled back out of his face and stared at himself in the mirror once his contacts were put in. He was impressed by the suit they'd provided him with – it looked like it would fit him perfectly – but, to his surprise, the stylist made no move to leave the room when it came time to put it on.

“... May I change in private?”

The stylist blinked, as though such a thing was unheard of, but nodded. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Yuuri waited to disrobe until the stylist had backed out of the room, and started to pull on the crisp navy trousers.

He was disrupted by a knock.

“Yuuri!” Viktor addressed the door with an unusual amount of familiarity, considering they had only met yesterday. “Are you decent?”

“I, uh-...” Startled, Yuuri paused with his pants halfway on. “We're not supposed to -”

“That's ridiculous tradition,” Viktor dismissed.

“I guess...” Yuuri hastily buttoned up his pants. He was dismayed to find them a little restrictive.

Opening the door, Viktor began talking before even laying eyes on Yuuri. “I thought we could talk about the wedding – are yours publicized the way ours are? Oh,” he paused. “You're hardly dressed at all.”

Yuuri reddened, taking in the sight of Viktor all made up and ready to go. He wanted to crumble and disappear.

“But you look good,” Viktor said, smiling. “Your hair is nice pushed back.”

The strength in Yuuri's legs evaporated, and they buckled under him.

“Yuuri?” Alarmed, Viktor started forward as Yuuri sank to his knees and mumbled frantically in his own language. Crouching, Viktor gingerly placed a hand on his shoulder. “Slow down...”

Yuuri looked up at him with watery eyes, and it was then that Viktor realized he had no idea how to deal with a crying person.

“... How should I calm you down?”

The question threw Yuuri off a little bit. He'd expected to be asked what was wrong, if anything. “... Just stay here.”

Viktor nodded despite his uncertainty. He had to trust that Yuuri would know what would help him. “I'm right here. We still have time before the ceremony.”

Yuuri sat up and abruptly wrapped his arms around Viktor's chest. It took Viktor a second to embrace him back; it'd been a long time since anyone had been bold enough to hug him.

“Your people... What if they don't accept me as your husband? How could they?” Yuuri asked.

“Of course they will... I already have.”

“You have...?”

“Any hesitation I might have had ended when I met you.” Viktor smiled cautiously, as though unsure if it was appropriate to. “I think we'll make a good pair. I've been preparing for this moment all my life, and when we danced together, you weren't overwhelmed. If you can keep up with me there, you can keep up with me anywhere.”

Yuuri listened, his eyes wide with gratitude and an undercurrent of affection. He nodded in determination.

“If you're worried about what the public will think, change their opinions _for_ them. Every time they bring their cameras out is an opportunity to show them what you want them to see.”

“You're always perfect on camera...” Yuuri said.

“Because I perform perfectly.”

He thought he understood.

“So you will also perform perfectly,” Viktor grinned encouragingly. “I'll coach you.”

“Yes...” Yuuri started to stand, wiping his eyes. “Thank you.”

“I'm happy to do it.” Viktor got up and adjusted his suit back into place.

“You were saying about the wedding?” Yuuri prompted, brushing himself off.

“I was wondering if you were used to the way our weddings are televised.”

“I watched recordings of the last three royal weddings.”

Viktor brightened. “Oh, good. Do you find them interesting?”

“Interesting, and a little odd,” Yuuri confessed. “The footage shows nothing but the couple during the ceremony.”

“Only the couple are present, aside from the officiant, His Majesty.”

Yuuri was stunned. “There are no guests?”

“Oh, no – millions of guests. Viewers, around the world.”

The burgeoning relief dissolved as Yuuri's stomach sank. “Oh.”

“I suppose you were too young to be invited to the last wedding... I was a small child, myself. We'll be live to everyone invited to the transmission.”

Yuuri was more terrified than ever. “I should-... I need to review the vows...”

“Yuuri. You're ready.” Viktor sounded extremely sure of the fact.

“... I'm not even wearing a shirt.”

He laughed. “Not that sort of ready. You're prepared for this – you're a prince! You've probably been prepared for a while.”

“Maybe princes aren't the same where I come from...”

“Nonsense,” Viktor dismissed, turning as to leave him to dress. “I saw you practicing. We're not so different.”

“Practicing?” Yuuri repeated, clueless.

“Dancing! You were magnificent.”

Yuuri's mouth dropped open in horror.

“I'll let you finish dressing,” Viktor said, letting the door close and walking off, oblivious to the shattering of Yuuri's psyche. Too mortified for words, Yuuri only managed a croaking sound as he staggered over to take his shirt down from the hanger.

 

* * *

 

The ceremony slipped by like some sort of dream. The cameras whizzed around, seeking the best angle to catch both grooms in frame, and it took everything Yuuri had to ignore them. He was trying to pretend that he and Viktor were the only ones in the room, though whether that made things more or less terrifying, he hadn't a clue. In trying to compensate for what the contact lenses didn't help him with, Yuuri inadvertently glared as he walked across the ballroom to meet Viktor in the middle and watched the rose-colored carpet more than where he was going.

It became easier, just a little, when his palm went to delicately rest upon Viktor's offered hand. His heart was still pounding as the two of them bowed to the King in tandem, as they made their way to kneel before him while he talked about how much their union meant to the people. They stayed there until it came time to stand, time for His Majesty to take the silk tie and wrap it around their joined hands, time for them to bow their heads to accept the crowns the King placed upon them.

Time for the kiss.

Suddenly self-conscious over the dryness of his lips, Yuuri wet them before meeting Viktor's kiss. It was over before he could determine whether the head rush was from excitement or anxiety.

Viktor didn't think much of the kiss one way or another. It was nothing compared to the dance, which he anticipated greatly. With his aloft hand still tied to Yuuri's, he led the way back to the center of the ballroom while the music swelled and the cameras followed them along.

They took their places, and began the dance.

Yuuri focused on Viktor's eyes and found that the steps flowed on their own.

 

* * *

 

It came as a surprise to find out that the cameras would not remain for the entirety of the reception. They stayed during the toasts, given by the various diplomats and the King himself, and Viktor smiled for them almost as much as he was smiling for Yuuri.

“They'll stay until His Majesty's last word, I'm sure, but then they'll leave,” Viktor murmured, leaning in close to Yuuri to tell him as much without drawing the attention of the other guests. Yuuri's 'sip' of champagne moments prior had been more of a steadying gulp, and his smile was coming off manic instead of joyous.

“Then it will just be the other guests?” Yuuri scanned the considerable crowd, the room at capacity despite its immense size. It had also been unexpected that there were so many people who really had physically come to the wedding to celebrate, after the three-person ceremony.

“Yes. I'll introduce you to some of my most esteemed acquaintances, and Yuri Plisetsky,” Viktor said, raising his champagne glass to one of the aforementioned friends when he caught their eye.

Yuuri tilted his glass back and swallowed everything to the last drop. He prayed that everyone he was to meet spoke the Common language.

When the King's toast concluded, security began to round up and usher out any lingering cameras, a signal to the people that they could begin mingling. Yuuri surveyed them, though his gaze never left Viktor for very long.

“Christophe!” Viktor greeted the handsome man who'd made his way towards them first. “I'm glad to see you could make it.”

“Your Highness.” Christophe flashed a disarming grin as he shook Viktor's hand, then Yuuri's. “Your Highness.”

“You likely know of Christophe Giacometti. The center of a number of sex scandals.”

Christophe frowned playfully. “Is that always how you plan to introduce me? I'm merely passionate.”

Yuuri smiled as he shook his hand, but he had no idea how to respond to such an introduction. “I have heard your name a few times, Mr. Giacometti.”

“And I'm sure they've all been good things. What a thing, this wedding!” Christophe looked around at the enormous hall, the largest room in the palace. “The world will be sad to see two eligible bachelors off the market, but everyone looks happy enough today.”

“I'd hope so,” Viktor declared.

Yuuri laughed. “We're very grateful that you came.”

A smirk played on Christophe's lips. “I wouldn't miss it. Once the party really picks up, you'll see.”

“If anyone is going to get out of hand, at least wait until we've weeded out the media moles,” Viktor chided, and Yuuri quickly glanced over his shoulder as if the very mention of them would bring the cameras out. “If you'll excuse us, though, I urgently want Yuuri and Yuri to meet.”

Christophe laughed. “Good luck keeping the names straight.”

Yuuri bowed his head in polite reflex. “Enjoy the party.”

“No doubt I will.”

“Yuuri, this way...” Viktor began to steer him, nearly making Yuuri stumble over his own feet in the process. “He's young, but very clever for his age, naturally talented. Ah – Yuri!”

The boy Viktor had taken Yuuri to looked moody and superior, his formalwear carelessly loosened around his neck and cuffs since the departure of the cameras. Yuri loitered around the buffet tables, and turned a thoroughly bored look on the pair of them.

Yuri was the third surprise of the evening – mostly, his age. Yuuri had expected either someone older, given the way Viktor talked about him, or someone far younger, given that they were supposed to 'adopt' him. Still, something about Yuri Plisetsky made a chill run up his spine.

“ _Oh, it's you. And the pig prince.”_ Pointedly, Yuri spoke in his native language rather than Common, preventing Yuuri from understanding a word.

Automatically, Viktor reverted to his own native Zolonayan. “ _I told you to speak Common in front of His Highness.”_

“ _Why should I? He'll have to learn it eventually.”_ Yuri turned a disdainful look on Yuuri, who was completely lost.

Viktor leaned over and mussed Yuri's perfect blonde hair. “ _Don't be rude. If all goes well, he'll be your other father._ Yuuri,” he switched back to Common, “this is Yuri Plisetsky. He knows you, of course.”

Yuuri extended a hand. “Very nice to meet you, Yuri.”

Yuri ignored the hand, a second away from gnashing his teeth at Viktor's fingers. “ _I'm not interested in being Yuri II.”_

“Yuri has a temper,” Viktor commented, and laughed.

It was odd, but as much as Yuuri was intimidated by Yuri, he also found his youthful belligerence kind of adorable. “I, er, look forward to getting to know each other better.”

Yuri switched to Common, but over-enunciated each word as though speaking to a child. “You are not my father, I don't need to know you.”

Viktor acted as though Yuri hadn't said anything. “Yuri has a room in the palace where he stays sometimes. We'll have to think of a nickname to differentiate you two.”

“I was Zolonaya's Yuri first,” Yuri sneered. “He can be pig prince.”

It was as if icy water had just been poured down Yuuri’s back, leaving him frozen and speechless.

“That's 'Your Highness' to you, Yuri.” Viktor's smile was cold. Yuri turned his nose up.

“Tch.”

“Maybe we should give him some time...” Yuuri anxiously looked to Viktor.

“He'll get used to you,” Viktor reassured him, and sounded very certain.

“I wish I was as certain as you,” Yuuri murmured. Yuri appeared to be treating them as though they didn't exist, now.

“If he doesn't, he won't be the next crown prince.” Viktor casually started to walk away, ignoring the daggers Yuri glared into his back. “Champagne, Yuuri? You don't have a glass.”

“Please,” Yuuri said immediately.

Viktor snapped his fingers and indicated Yuuri to a nearby server, who promptly ensured he had a drink in-hand. Yuuri downed it without lowering the glass once, begging the beverage for some kind of courage. Looking about the room, Viktor did not notice.

“There are other dignitaries you really must meet, though I'm sure you know a few already...”

“I recognize a few faces, even some friends.”

“That's good! You'll have people to talk to if I get trapped in a long-winded conversation. Weren't you getting champagne?”

Yuuri had put his empty flute on the tray of a passing waiter. “I'll go and get some. In the meantime, I think there are some disappointed princesses you should dance with.”

Viktor laughed. “If it's alright with my husband.”

He wasn't even remotely used to being called that, yet. “I don't mind. I had my turn already.”

“Then, you know where to find me.” Viktor took Yuuri's hand and kissed it once. Yuuri was sure he blushed.

“I'm sure I won't be able to miss you,” he replied.

Winking, Viktor whisked himself away to mingle, enticed towards the dance floor more often than not. Yuuri watched him go, then cut a direct path to an elegant tower of champagne flutes.

He had one drink.

He had another.

The song changed, the dance as well. Yuuri took another glass.

The tower of champagne was no longer quite as grandiose, and Yuuri had lost track of how many songs had played. Finally, though, Yuuri felt _good_ , like there was nothing he couldn't do.

With a bit of a waver in his gait, Yuuri made his way back to the center of the hall. It was subtle enough that no one would be able to guess just how many glasses of champagne he'd claimed; not even Yuuri knew that, having lost track early on.

He'd also lost his jacket somewhere. Strange.

Yuuri apologized with a bubbly laugh after bumping into a stranger, weaving around the woman's expansive ballgown. “Mm... My husband is missing,” he said to no one, rolling the Common words on his tongue. He didn't have the greatest grasp on them, at the moment. “My prince cha-arming...”

Parched, Viktor had left the dance floor to take a second glass of champagne, and looked up when someone called out an elongated version of his name.

“Yuuri?” Clueless, Viktor went to meet his husband, and found him red-faced and smiling.

“ _Hello_ ,” Yuuri drawled, walking right into Viktor's chest.

His mind went a little blank as he processed this sight. “... What happened to your jacket?”

Yuuri squinted. “What are you talking about?”

“... Are you drunk?”

“It's warm in here, don't you think?” Yuuri asked. “I should take the jacket off...”

“You already did that,” Viktor notified him, eyes crinkled with amusement.

“Did I?” Yuuri laughed, and reached up to touch Viktor's face. “You are... the most beautiful man.” He cracked up. “And you look even better in real life than on screen.”

Baffled but flattered, Viktor's heart skipped a little. “Yuuri...”

“You are _much_ more beautiful than me...” Yuuri’s gentle touch had become clumsier, and rubbed Viktor's cheeks, pulling and distorting his face. “Maybe... no one in this country wants me.”

Viktor was all the more confused. “We're husbands. Everyone will -” his mouth was pulled, words garbled, “ - want you.”

“Shh...” Yuuri pushed an unsteady finger against his lips. “No, listen. They don't think I'm good enough, and maybe you don't think I'm good enough, but, but you know what?” Yuuri looked directly into his eyes (or the pair he thought were his real ones). “I'm going to prove I am, right now.”

Viktor wasn't stupid. He knew Yuuri was drunk. He was kind of speechless, though, and he liked this side of him.

“And you just...” Yuuri started to push him back towards one of the nearest chairs, “... have to watch me... and never take your eyes off me.”

Viktor sat, intent on Yuuri. He felt a bit warm. “I will.”

There was one thing Yuuri remembered clearly – Viktor's praise of his dancing. Backing into a clear spot within Viktor's line of sight, he began to move without a thought or plan, running his hands up his body and loosening his collar. He undid the first couple of buttons one-handed, watching Viktor with hooded eyes.

Intent as promised – as though he could be anything but – Viktor became captivated, a little thrown by how seductive he was with only a few gestures. Yuuri moved smoothly into a dance all his own, technically following the beat of the music but making his own sultry song with his body.

It'd been years since Viktor last blushed from being simply flustered, but the warmth was definitely settling in his cheeks.

Yuuri threw the occasional look back at Viktor, oblivious to the numerous stares of others and hotter the more he moved. He loosened buttons until his shirt was hanging open off his shoulders, and for a blissful change, he felt no shame about his body.

Viktor had no idea what he could've ever been ashamed of, anyway. He pulled at his collar, swallowing, and someone from the crowd whistled.

The shrill sound caught Yuuri's attention and he sought the source, spotting Christophe easily. He was clapping appreciatively and grinned at the challenging look Yuuri shot him. With just a gesture, Christophe undid his shirt and sashayed forward.

The realization of what was happening went through the crowd like a wave, and Viktor was one of the first to laugh appreciatively. Yuuri tossed his shirt to the ground and popped his hip, Christophe swiveling his and discarding his shirt as well.

A competition had been declared, and they both met the challenge with gusto. Hands twirling smoothly upwards, Yuuri rolled his body towards Christophe as the other man ran his hands up across his own backside. Christophe spun around Yuuri, taking the hand of one of the nearby princesses.

Yuuri smirked and threw another look at Viktor. His tongue dragged seductively across his lips.

The room was _definitely_ warmer. Viktor unthinkingly covered his mouth.

An idea drifted through Yuuri's hazy mind, and he seized a bottle of champagne from the table to shake it. Before Viktor could comprehend what he was planning, Yuuri popped the cork and sprayed himself and Christophe, the two of them throwing their heads back to let the foam shower them.

Viktor swore softly in his native tongue. Dripping, Yuuri shook champagne out of his hair and began removing his soaked pants, Christophe nearly in sync with him.

The cheers from the crowd had finally gotten the attention of Yuri, who shrieked in the distance. He charged forward to find Yuuri, stripped down to his socks and briefs, spreading his legs to slide to the floor with surprising flexibility. He tossed his head back, hair loosened by sweat and champagne.

“What are you thinking you are doing?!” Yuri charged through the crowd, shrill.

Christophe hoisted himself onto a table, arching his back and lifting one leg straight up. “Don't worry yourself, little prince! This is just how adults have fun!”

Viktor ignored Yuri, hypnotized. He hadn't expected at any point to find himself _attracted_ to his new husband, and now that he'd learned how very enamored he was, he couldn't stop staring.

“Oh, Yuri!” Craning his neck to look at him, Yuuri rolled onto his knees and started to stand.

Yuri was a lot more embarrassed than Yuuri was. “I say you stop now!”

Starting to smirk, Yuuri leaned towards him. “Hm, do you think you can't beat me, _son?_ ”

There were only a few words Yuuri knew in Zolonayan, and 'son' was one of them. Yuri choked at his use of the word, and Viktor snapped out of it, starting to laugh and applaud.

“I'll show you what you are knowing, pig prince!” Yuri spat in indignation and immediately launched into a spin and high kick.

Yuuri cheered wholeheartedly and resumed his own dance. “Very good!”

“Excellent, excellent!” Viktor clapped with even more enthusiasm. Nearby, a thrilled Phichit Chulanont posed for his companion cam while being sure to catch the background events in frame.

Glaring in absolutely fury, Yuri matched Yuuri's difficulty move for move, but was at a slight disadvantage due to still being dressed. Christophe swiveled on the table, legs falling apart into the splits. Laughing, Yuuri climbed clumsily up onto the table and ran gentle fingers across Christophe's shoulders.

Viktor rather wanted to join them now, but he'd promised to watch. Still, he was a little jealous, longing to be out there dancing with Yuuri instead.

Christophe moved into Yuuri's hands and raised both legs up again. Yuuri rolled to sit up on the edge and kicked his legs up as well.

“Go Prince Yuuri!” Phichit called, taking another picture.

“Phichit!” Yuuri tilted his head up, thrilled, and reached a hand between his spread legs to beckon his friend. Phichit approached with his companion cam floating by his shoulder, taking more footage.

Yuri and Christophe were still dancing.

“Are you taking pictures?” Yuuri stumbled forward towards the suspended lens, laughing.

“Of course!” Throwing an arm around Yuuri's shoulders, Phichit flashed the camera a peace sign. “Smile!”

Yuuri threw his own fingers up with a drunken smile, squeezing Phichit's side. “Make sure you catch this,” he told him, turning and sashaying towards Viktor's chair. Unexpectedly, Viktor met him halfway, finding that he just couldn't sit by and just watch anymore.

“Hello... my husband.” Yuuri slid his arms around Viktor's neck.

Viktor's lips were dry. “Hello...”

Unable to keep still, Yuuri wriggled his hips against him. “It's a shame... We only got one dance...”

For the first time ever, Viktor felt like the rug had been pulled out from under him in the best way. “Care to fix that with me?”

Yuuri boldly took Viktor's waist and hand, sweeping him onto the floor. Viktor hadn't expected Yuuri to lead but was very willing to follow his undefinable style of dance. They swayed, spun, Yuuri hooking his leg up onto Viktor's hip. Flustered, Viktor let his hands do most of his expressing, stroking Yuuri's jaw or flourishing around his hips.

With a soft purr, Yuuri changed things up by grabbing Viktor under his thigh and hiking it up his side. Nearby, Yuri made a sound like a feral cat.

Viktor sank into him and extended his leg, maintaining his balance even as Yuuri tested it. He bent Viktor backwards, tipping him far back. Viktor's grin turned into a genuine laugh of surprise.

Yuuri didn't really know why, but he found his eyes widening. He'd heard Viktor laugh before, but this one felt like it was just for him. He pulled Viktor upright again and directed him towards the tables and chairs again.

The dizziness Viktor felt had nothing to do with the dance.

With one steadying hand on his shoulder, Yuuri pushed Viktor into a chair and straddled his lap. Viktor's hands flitted along Yuuri's thighs and he melted against the chair, totally not in control of the situation and not aware that Phichit's companion cam had switched from taking pictures to recording video.

“Look, they're perfect newlyweds!” Phichit gushed to the camera, smile bright.

Yuuri gripped harder and lifted his hips just enough to roll them rhythmically, a hint of muscle visible in his stomach when he curled his body like that. Heated and intrigued, Viktor looked over his body and lamented that anything about him would change for the media's sake.

“You're so very talented, my husband.”

Yuuri smirked. “We have to match.”

Viktor's chuckle tapered off to something like a blissful little sigh. One of the things he'd discounted long ago was a traditional wedding night, but he was rapidly reevaluating as Yuuri swiveled his hips in circles and figure eights, brushing his lap all the while. Something had sparked and caught inside of Yuuri, too warm even under-dressed as he was.

“... I would like to kiss you again,” Viktor said, hands on Yuuri's waist.

“Mm...” Breathing heavily, Yuuri slowly brought his head forward and met his eyes through damp hair. Then he leaned in to capture his lips.

Yuuri tasted like champagne and felt soft. There was no hesitation, doubt, or formality. Everything around them disappeared, neither one of them having ever been kissed like _this_ – Yuuri felt like he was floating and his head was swimming. He groaned between their lips.

“The first kiss was just ceremony... This kiss was real,” Viktor murmured. Pleased, Yuuri lifted a hand to brush Viktor's lip with his thumb.

“These lips... are mine to kiss from now on...”

It would be impossible not to become totally helpless to arousal when Yuuri said things like _that_. “Should we leave the reception?”

“Mm... Will they miss us?”

“No. They would expect the new couple to have some time alone.”

“Yes, that's right, isn't it?”

“We can leave.” Viktor took Yuuri's hand. “If you'd like to.”

“I'd like that...” Yuuri lifted his hand to kiss his fingers. Viktor exhaled, amazed by his luck.

Phichit recorded them from afar, laughing and fawning over the pair intermittently. They were getting up, going to leave the hall to light, scattered applause.

Viktor led them through the palace, going slow to keep pace with Yuuri. He wasn't helping their speed by staring at Viktor for moments at a time.

“Viktor...”

“Yes?” Viktor slid an arm around his waist. Yuuri blinked.

“Hm?”

“You said my name.”

“Oh.” Yuuri grinned. “I like to say your name.”

Viktor's chest warmed again. “I like to say yours.”

Yuuri slowed them again to run a hand up his chest. “Then, I will make you say it... many times...”

Heat flooded Viktor's face and he was struck dumb by how much he wanted to be with him. “Yuuri...”

“Like that...” Yuuri leaned up to kiss him again and was met by obvious want. Never before had Yuuri felt _desired_ like this, giving up control to sink into him. They backed up towards the wall, Yuuri lazily directing Viktor's hands to his bare skin. Happy to touch him and pleased by the detour, Viktor massaged lightly.

Despite his amazement in the face of Yuuri's confidence when he'd seemed so flustered before, Viktor did not put two and two together.

“Nngh...” Yuuri felt where he could, admiring Viktor's body through his clothes. “We share your bedroom from now on, right?”

“Mm – we do...”

“I'd like to see it very much,” Yuuri breathed.

“Come with me.” Viktor took his hand again to lead him. They went up to the second floor, to the private wing of the palace where the media had never been.

The security was tight, a few different access points and scans barring the path. Viktor to get by to the bedroom. “We'll key everything to your DNA signature later,” Viktor told him, and keyed in his pass-code to his quarters.

The first thing Yuuri laid eyes on was the bed, easily massive enough to support an entire family. He released a nearly inaudible sound of awe.

“My bedroom... Ours, now.”

“Our bedroom,” Yuuri repeated.

“Would you like to lie down?”

“I would like that,” he confirmed quietly.

Viktor brought him over towards the bed and began to undress, smoothly discarding rumpled clothing. Yuuri watched avidly from the mattress, though the room seemed to be swaying.

The covers and pillows were so comfortably squishy. Yuuri blinked hard, trying to keep Viktor in view despite the wave of exhaustion creeping up on him.

He could close his eyes for a second, just until the room stopped spinning.

“Yuuri?” Stripping off the rest of his clothes, Viktor turned around in time to see Yuuri sink to the mattress, eyes closed and dead to the world.

He must have had more champagne than Viktor realized... which made this for the best. Viktor grinned, no less endeared.

“Ah... goodnight, Yuuri,” he murmured, leaning over him and pulling the covers up over his body. From the floor, Makkachin roused and clambered up onto the bed to sleep at Viktor's other side.

When Yuuri was sober and feeling better, they'd discuss what married life would entail. Viktor was looking forward to the whole affair much more than he'd ever thought he would.


	3. Chapter 3

There was something enormously heavy resting on Yuuri's head and chest, and a strong beam of light was pointing straight at his burning eyes.

“ _Nngh_...” Swatting vaguely at the light, he wound up narrowly missing his new husband. Viktor contentedly stroked and played with Yuuri's hair, watching him with all the affection sprouted from newfound infatuation.

There were so many things he wanted to know about Yuuri, and he was tempted to ask them right off the bat. Instead, he murmured, “Good morning.”

Yuuri tried to open his eyes and found them resistant. Moisture been streaming from their corners on and off all night, and dried in such a way that practically glued his eyelids together.

He rubbed at his eyes and slurred, “H’llo...?”

Viktor grinned and brushed his cheek. “You look like such a wreck... You must be hungover.”

“What?” Yuuri squinted, puffy eyes tinged with red. “Viktor?”

He hummed affirmatively.

Yuuri groaned in his own language and pushed his face into the pillow, needing to block out the light. Viktor, of course, did not understand him, but he got the idea.

“I'll have someone bring you some water and something for pain,” he said, turning over to find the communicator on his bedside table.

Nausea finally caught up with consciousness, boiling jarringly in Yuuri's gut. He frantically tried to kick the covers off but twisted in them, landing in a heap on the floor. Makkachin sat up, sleepy-eyed and startled.

Viktor shut off the communicator after a brief conversation in Zolonayan, pushing himself up. “Yuuri?”

Yuuri didn't speak. He discovered he was too dizzy to stand after the first attempt and managed a loping sort of crawl instead. He made his way towards the blur that he was pretty sure was a door, and prayed it was an en-suite bathroom.

“Yuuri...” Viktor got up out of bed. “Do you need help?”

“Bathroom,” Yuuri choked desperately.

He went to help Yuuri up and over to the washroom, speaking soothingly. “You can rest today.”

Yuuri was a little too busy to respond. He leaned heavily into the toilet, upending the roiling contents of his stomach. Viktor sat down next to him and rubbed circles into his back. He'd expected this would happen after realizing how drunk Yuuri was last night, and found him no less charming as a result.

Miserable, Yuuri groaned and slapped the handle down blindly.

“You look just awful,” was Viktor's helpful comment. “Let me get you a towel.”

Yuuri wiped his mouth. His stomach felt a little more settled, but he was certain he would be revisiting the toilet again soon. “Wait... Help me stand?”

Viktor promptly looped an arm under him. Yuuri leaned most of his weight on Viktor, now alert enough to notice there seemed to be a _lot_ of skin-on-skin contact.

That... was something to think about later.

“Washing your face might help you feel better,” Viktor suggested, bringing him to the sink. He watched with sympathy as Yuuri let the water run lukewarm and rinsed out his mouth, splashed a bit on his face. It did help a little, but it brought his attention to another pressing issue.

He assessed the damage to his eyes and cringed. Gingerly, Yuuri touched a finger to his cornea, which was an alarming thing to see without explanation.

“What are you doing?” Viktor started.

With a gasp of discomfort, Yuuri peeled the dry contact off and let it drop into the sink. It was beyond use, now. Once he understood, Viktor stopped wincing and nodded.

“Oh...”

The other was removed in the same manner, and Yuuri felt at once relief and renewed stinging. His eyes filled with tears.

In the bedroom, Makkachin got up to greet and sniff at the attendant who'd entered with a tray. Eyes were kept professionally averted from the bathroom.

Viktor lightly rubbed Yuuri's shoulders until the latter gained enough composure to gently rinse his eyes out. Finally, Yuuri looked up and into the mirror.

He was only able to see blurs of color, but it was enough to tell that he was only dressed in his underwear, and Viktor... was not.

“Um... Viktor...?”

“Yes?” Viktor continued to massage Yuuri's shoulders.

“We didn't-...” he trailed off, too embarrassed to finish the question.

“Did not-? Ah, no. You were much too drunk.”

A flush came back to Yuuri's pale face. That was a relief, at least, but it still brought up questions. “Do you always sleep like this?”

“Yes.”

With Viktor's support, Yuuri hobbled back to the bed, reflecting on the ways of foreigners that he would need to get used to. Makkachin was nosing at the tray the attendant had left, tail wagging even as he was prompted away from it and onto the floor.

“I had someone bring water and rice – something plain to settle your stomach.”

It was a relief that not _everything_ was different. Yuuri couldn't handle unfamiliar food right now. “Thank you. I'm sorry for... this.”

“We'll just need to keep an eye on how much you drink from now on,” Viktor teased, grinning.

“I usually don't -... Not that much,” Yuuri quickly defended himself.

“Here.” Viktor took the spoon and offered him a scoop of the rice. “Say 'ah'.”

Blinking, he took the command literally. “Ah.”

Gently, Viktor placed the spoon in his mouth. “Why did you drink so much? Did you lose count?”

Yuuri couldn't answer. He was stunned, not having been fed by someone else since early childhood. Viktor was oblivious to his shock.

“I didn't even realize how drunk you were until we got back to the bedroom,” he laughed. “I suppose I should be more observant.”

Chewing slowly, Yuuri tried not to analyze that too deeply and swallowed. “Is it going to cause trouble with the media?”

“They were dismissed from the reception, remember? It will be fine.”

“Will anyone see me today?”

“We aren't expected anywhere.”

“Good...” Yuuri reached for the spoon, ready to handle another bite. Viktor, however, took over and lifted the spoon for him.

It was embarrassing, but... Yuuri was enjoying the attention. Besides, he felt really, really sick. “Ah.”

Viktor put the rice in his mouth with a grin. “We'll probably be interviewed in a day or two about our marriage.”

Yuuri dragged the rice off the spoon into his mouth, then nodded. Preemptively, Viktor scooped up more.

“You should plan in advance what you'll want to say,” he advised.

“I'll write a speech later. Ah.”

“Very good.” Viktor put the spoon in his mouth.

Yuuri was still chewing as he mumbled, “Water?”

Picking up the glass and the straw, Viktor offered it to him with rapt attention. Yuuri sipped slowly, his stomach starting to twist a little in protest of having food in it.

“I don't know about you,” Viktor murmured, “but hangover aside, I think I'll be able to tell the media that our marriage has been very successful so far.”

“You do...?” Yuuri couldn't fathom how that was possible.

Viktor grinned. “I do want to know more about you before we end up talking to them. Have you had girlfriends before? Boyfriends?”

“I saw a few girls, I guess. Mostly dates to important events.” Yuuri felt marginally less awful, enough for exhaustion to set back in.

“I've had very public girlfriends, but no one serious,” Viktor told him. “I never even considered a boyfriend until I heard I'd be marrying a man, and then it just felt inappropriate.”

“Oh. I hope I don't disappoint you...” Yuuri sank tiredly into Viktor's side, speech getting slower and quieter.

Viktor looked very assured. “Of course you don't. You're my husband.”

Yuuri mumbled something in response and slipped lower.

“Are you falling asleep?” Viktor stroked his hair.

“I don't... think I can eat anymore...”

“You should rest, my Yuuri.”

Yuuri doubted he heard that right. He slipped into his lap completely, mercifully too weary to be flustered, and fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

The make-up on Yuuri's face was heavily done, masking the loss of color in his cheeks and the deep circles under his eyes. A day later and Yuuri was still feeling sick, but was well enough to stand without seeing double. As much as he would have still preferred to rest, the press conference had been scheduled a month in advance and they had no choice but to go.

Yuuri smiled vacantly to the cameras as he shuffled and reshuffled his speech, but Viktor was the picture of the perfect prince. He posed in the way he held himself, smiling wide for the cameras and reporters. The crowd looked sparse, but he knew there was a multitude of people on the other end of those lenses.

An encouraging hand clapped against Yuuri's shoulder before Viktor greeted the cameras. “Thank you all for coming to see us!”

Yuuri was hit by a wave of uncertain nausea, though that easily could have been nerves. He spoke in careful, deliberate Common, “We are honored by the response of the people in the early days of our marriage...”

“Your support and interest has been overwhelming!” Viktor added. “We have no adequate way to express our gratitude.”

Yuuri's smile warmed a little, and he nodded. “Now, we know you're all very interested to know how we have been.”

“Tell us everything! The people want every detail,” one of the reporters called, moving in with his camera.

His speech didn't cover 'details'. With nerves back in full force, Yuuri glanced quickly at Viktor. “We've taken the time to rest and get to know each other.”

“Prince Yuuri has proven to be excellent company,” Viktor said, nodding to him to indicate that he should go ahead with his speech.

Even through the make-up, he could see Yuuri go pale. He cleared his throat.

“Prince Viktor has already started to take care of me. After the excitement of the wedding, we spent the day together in bed...”

A rush of panic hit Yuuri when the reporters started to murmur and chuckle, unaware of the double entendre. Projecting innocence with everything he had, Viktor flashed an unabashed smile.

“Chatting, and recovering from the excitement of the wedding,” he elaborated. Still, there were amused murmurs.

Yuuri's stiff shoulders relaxed a little. Viktor didn't seem alarmed, and that was a relief.

“We have enjoyed each other's company quite a lot. We are very compatible,” Yuuri said, and got a few more giggles as his accent became more pronounced, particularly as he sounded out the last word. He wanted to turn to dust and let the wind carry him away. “We look forward to learning even more about each other in our many years together to come.”

Viktor resisted a frown as Yuuri spoke and the reporters laughed, an unusual sense of 'wrong' unsettling him. He was indignant on Yuuri's behalf, but all he could do was step in and maintain diplomacy. “I value the relationship we've already managed to build, and I'm proud to call Prince Yuuri my husband. He's been adapting to a foreign country so quickly.”

Smiling at him, Yuuri tentatively reached for his hand. “Our relationship as husbands, like the relationship between our two great nations, will only be strengthened as we spend more time working together.”

Viktor took the offered hand and lifted it to kiss the ring on his finger. Yuuri faltered in embarrassment, lost for words in the face of Viktor's dazzling smile.

Turning that smile on the cameras, Viktor laughed. “I'm sorry, you asked for details!”

That earned a good-natured chuckle from the reporters.

“Yuuri has been experiencing our local cuisine, our architecture, our way of life. Adapting has been a welcome challenge, one we have all been happy to help with. I believe that for all he might miss about home, he has found as many reasons to love our country.”

Yuuri laughed bashfully, until he was put on the spot.

“What have you liked best about living in Zolonaya?” one of them asked.

“Er... you have very soft furniture.” Yuuri looked to Viktor for reassurance that wasn't a wrong answer to give, and received a hand squeeze in return.

“And what have you liked best about Prince Viktor?”

Yuuri swallowed. “Well, he-... Prince Viktor, in private he's... gentle, and what's the word, domestic?”

“My, he sounds like quite the gentleman!” the reporter crowed.

“I hope that doesn't come as a surprise!” Viktor jested. Yuuri grinned, but a voice in the back of his mind wondered once again what Viktor saw in him.

“And have you had much interaction with your potential heir, Yuri Plisetsky?”

“We met at the wedding reception,” Yuuri answered, searching for something to say about him. He honestly couldn't remember much.

“I expect they'll get along well once they have time to know each other,” Viktor said, saving him from having to give an opinion.

“We'll have our first official lunch together later this week. I'm eager to speak to him again.”

One of the reporters waved, patience clearly at their limit. “Not to get into scandal, but I have a question about the exclusive video from the reception?”

Yuuri looked towards her blankly. “Exclusive?”

Viktor's heart sank.

“The video uploaded briefly by Phichit Chulanont's companion bot. It circulated long enough for copies to be made – Prince Yuuri, you were stripping alongside Christophe Giacometti.”

Yuuri didn't have the practice to prevent his face from falling in horror. “I-... I-I don't...”

What?

He didn't remember. That couldn't have happened.

“It was a very lively party!” Viktor diverted with a laugh, covering for his nerves. “And Prince Yuuri is quite the dancer, not to be outdone by sir Giacometti. If there are other questions...?”

Another reporter signaled for his attention. “Prince Viktor, do you have any new concerns about Prince Yuuri's behavior after the events of the reception?”

Viktor cursed inside. “Not at all! Prince Yuuri knows how to conduct himself properly, and given out cause for celebration, I think a little rambunctiousness is appropriate.”

“But is such an immodest display really an acceptable way for royalty to conduct themselves?”

Yuuri's lips had parted slightly to make way for quick, shallow breaths. His view became narrow as gray spots closed in on the edges of his vision.

It was as if at some point he had departed the press conference and stepped straight into one of his most frequent nightmares - in front of a crowd, answering for something he hadn’t known he’d done, something to embarrass his family and disappoint his idol.

He was going to pass out, and absurdly, all he could think was that doing so would make him more of a burden.

“You can understand the excitement of a newlywed, can't you?” Viktor said, squeezing Yuuri's hand again. A manic idea crossed his mind, thinking he should kiss him right there in front of all the press in the hopes that it would calm Yuuri down.

The reporter laughed, placated. “I suppose.”

Viktor winked. “You may have been shocked to see another side of me, as well! I'm just as thrilled over our marriage – more so by the day.”

“Y-yes,” Yuuri stammered. He was only audible because of his microphone.

“Thank you for your questions and investment in our lives! Now, you must forgive me, Makkachin is waiting in the car,” Viktor announced. He placed a hand on Yuuri's back to steer him away from the podium, the reporters clamoring to say their farewells. Viktor waved and smiled all the way back to the car, got in when the door was opened for them, and waited until they were seated and Makkachin was licking his face.

“Are you alright?”

Yuuri made a strange wheezing noise, like his lungs were being compressed too tightly to function.

“Eh... ah...” Viktor floundered. “What do you need?”

Slowly, Yuuri's look of utter terror turned into a wide, manic smile. “I'll become a hermit... that's what I'll do,” he muttered. “I'll become a hermit and live in isolation on a mountain...”

Viktor was all the more concerned. “You can't. You're married to me.”

Yuuri didn't appear to hear him, and his crazed monologue switched to his native language. Picking up some second-hand anxiety, Viktor placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. “Should I kiss you? Would that calm you down?”

Utterly confused, Yuuri stared at Viktor, unable to figure out why he'd think that. “... No.”

Viktor was disappointed. “Then what will?”

“I just need to understand what happened,” Yuuri paused. “And maybe...”

He reached out hopefully towards Makkachin, who happily launched himself towards Yuuri's extended hand. Makkachin started licking his face, and Yuuri buried both hands into the dog's fur.

“Do you mean what happened at the conference just now?” Viktor asked.

“... I don't understand what they were talking about.”

“You don't?” That possibility hadn't dawned on Viktor.

Nervous as though he expected the news to upset him, Yuuri confessed, “I remember almost nothing from the night of our wedding... Were those reporters telling the truth?”

Viktor's face fell. “You _don't remember_...? The dancing, the things you said?”

Yuuri frowned. “No, I-... Did I do something terrible?”

“No, you were very seductive!”

What.

“ _What?_ ”

“You danced on the tables and took off your clothes,” Viktor reported, sounding nothing but matter-of-fact. “Everyone loved it.”

Red began creeping up Yuuri's face. “Oh, god...”

“And you said very... enticing things, to me,” Viktor said, fondly recalling the low purr Yuuri had spoken in. Telling him seemed to have the opposite of the intended effect, Yuuri burying his face in Makkachin's fur, mortified beyond words.

“Yuuri...”

His response was too muffled to make out. Makkachin happily panted away.

“Don't be embarrassed,” Viktor coaxed him. “You were beautiful to watch. And you seemed to have fun – I did.”

Slowly, Yuuri raised his head over the dog's side. “You... liked what I did?”

“Very much.”

Yuuri took this in with a slow breath. “... I wish I remembered.”

“I wish you did, too,” Viktor frowned. “You don't remember our first kiss, then.”

“Well, we kissed at the wedding...”

Viktor shook his head dismissively. “That was for the cameras. I meant the first one _off_ camera.”

“Oh,” Yuuri replied, and glanced at Viktor's lips.

“We could always recreate it,” Viktor suggested, noticing.

It wouldn’t solve anything, probably wouldn’t ease his panic any, but...

“I would like to have one I can remember.”

Viktor got up to join him on the parallel seat, scratching behind Makkachin's ears with one hand and cupping Yuuri's jaw with the other. Yuuri's heart rate picked up as he was touched, leaning towards him.

The kiss was tender and stopped Yuuri's heart for an instant. Viktor's lips were soft, the pressure unmistakably affectionate but without heat. Yuuri brought out hand up to cover Viktor's, his wedding band brushing skin. As he relaxed, he pushed a little harder into the kiss.

Viktor forgot to keep petting Makkachin. “Mm...”

The noise captured Yuuri's interest with a rush of... something he couldn't identify. He hummed lightly, which became a sound of surprise when Viktor slid his arms around Yuuri's shoulders. After a moment, he found the strength to rest his arms around his waist.

Unwilling to part from him just yet, Viktor buried his fingers in Yuuri's hair, and he melted under the intensity. Yuuri was actually starting to slide off the seat, and might have fallen had Makkachin not chosen that moment to yip at them both.

They broke apart. Yuuri inhaled sharply, awestruck and out of breath. Makkachin obliviously tried to get Viktor to resume petting him.

Viktor smiled and scratched behind Makkachin's ears again. “That will count as our first.”

“I'm glad,” Yuuri said, blush vivid.

Reluctantly, Viktor prompted Makkachin to return to Yuuri. “I'm sorry that I didn't realize how drunk you were.”

Yuuri rubbed the dog's floppy ears. “I only remember drinking until I wasn't nervous anymore.”

“... You're nervous often, I've noticed.”

He hesitated to agree. “Yes. It's a fault I've always had...”

“The media will notice too, soon enough,” Viktor remarked, concerned. “If you can, you need to project confidence, even if it's false.”

“I know. I'll try not to let you down.”

“I will coach you on how to behave in front of them, but in front of me...”

Yuuri glanced up at his face. Viktor grinned.

“Just be Yuuri, with me.”

“What if you don't like Yuuri...?” he asked, voicing a fear that had been swirling around the back of his mind ever since their engagement was announced.

“Well, what if you don't like Viktor?” he countered.

“How could I possibly... how could anyone not like you?”

Amused, Viktor tilted his head and started counting off, “Well, I can be forgetful. And tactless. Sometimes I don't seem to remember anyone exists apart from myself.”

He might have been coming across as self-aware, but what he was really doing was repeating Yakov's words verbatim. He decided Yuuri didn't need to know that.

“I don't think that's true,” Yuuri said hastily. “You're so generous with your people, your fans...”

“And you're very kind. I think we'll get along.”

Yuuri smiled.

Then a thought occurred to him and the expression vanished as he hid his face again. “What if my family saw the video?”

“Ah...” Viktor laughed awkwardly, not sure how to comfort him on that front.

Yuuri would be hearing from his sister and his tutor soon. That was something neither of them had to look forward to.

 


End file.
